


Dad Bod

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Belly Kink, M/M, Pregnancy, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Stuffing, this is kinky yo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23086621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Crowley wants a child more than anything, but his current body weight isn't ideal for carrying a baby for nine months. So, with a little planning and a lot of praise and mutual kinks, he and Aziraphale get his weight up.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 137
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queenallyababwa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenallyababwa/gifts).



> Written for a request! 
> 
> Super kinky shit ahead! Last warning!

Crowley had been begging for a baby. Every time they came across a little one during one of their daily walks, he would give Aziraphale a little pout which the angel would always sigh at and give him a look that meant, “I told you to give me time to think.” Whenever they heard about a grandchild of a neighbor being born, Crowley would lament on how lucky the parents were. 

Crowley began leaving hints around the cottage after their first year in the South Downs. He would leave his laptop open, mommy blogs (and invention he was fairly proud of), articles written by OBGYNs, and listings for new cribs on full display. He had started subscribing (or he at least thought about it so much that they started showing up in their mail) to parenting and pregnancy magazines. There was also no shortage of frottage when Aziraphale was trying to cook dinner or fold laundry. 

Aziraphale finally gave in when Crowley asked him his opinion on nursery colors. He knew that his demon would persist until the end of time and even then, that wouldn’t stop him. Crowley was stubborn and looked quite adorable when begging and, well, a baby  _ would  _ be nice. Aziraphale didn’t  _ not  _ want a child, but he did want the timing to be just right. 

“Alright,” Aziraphale had said with a smile. “You’ve tempted me.”

Crowley wrapped himself around in the way that only snakes seem capable of and kissed him along the jaw and cheeks and nose. He thanked Aziraphale a hundred times that night in more than one way. 

The plan for conceiving (which Crowley had named “Get Your Demon Knocked Up”) began with a long conversation and frantic Googling on Crowley’s end. After a better part of the day had been spent making lists about what they would need for the baby, what Crowley would need for the nine months, possible risks, and baby names, Crowley began worrying at his bottom lip. 

“Hey, angel?”

Aziraphale recognized that tone. It was used often in late nights at the bookshop in the eleven years leading up to the apocalypse when they had had a bottle of wine and sat in silence with the weight of the end of the world sitting heavily on them. 

“What is it, my love?”

“Do you think I’m underweight? By human standards?”

Aziraphale hadn’t thought about it a lot. While he was aware of the weight of his own corporation (that is, the excess of it), he hadn’t noticed much about Crowley’s. He was certainly  _ thin,  _ but Aziraphale didn’t know if “underweight” was accurate. 

He thought about the way that Crowley’s ribs would occasionally poke out and how prominent his hips were. In fact, just the other night, Aziraphale felt the individual bumps of his vertebrae. It probably wouldn’t be normal or healthy for a human. 

“I suppose you are. Why do you ask?” 

“I’ve just been reading that underweight mothers can have some complications.”

“Oh dear.”

“Nothing awful. I mean, we don’t exactly function as humans, either. It’s not like anything’s happened to me yet. I doubt anything would happen to the baby.”

“But is it wise to take the chance? Remember your corporation would be at risk as well, and we don’t know if this is going to weaken you.”

“Maybe not.” Crowley leaned back in his seat, folding his thin arms over his chest. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wait a little bit and see if I can gain any weight.”

“You’ll have to start eating regularly--you’d have to do that with the child, anyway. It’ll be good to make it a habit before we… make any attempts.”

Crowley looked to Aziraphale, a small pout on his lips. “I don’t  _ want  _ to wait.”

“It’ll be good for you,” Aziraphale said. “Imagine. You won’t be so cold all the time. You can join me for meals.”

“I already join you for meals.”

“You just watch. I meant actually partaking in the food.”

“I don’t like eating that much.”

“You’re just picky. How about we make a list of dishes we know that you like and experiment a little? I’m sure we’ll find something that you’ll enjoy.”

Crowley looked at the lists they had before them, scattered across the table. “What’s one more?” he mumbled. 

The list didn’t end up being very long as Crowley struggled to recall the dishes he enjoyed from centuries before. While he sat deep in thought, Aziraphale began brainstorming dishes he could probably convince Crowley to try. 

There was something about cooking for Crowley that filled him with joy. He loved taking care of his what-he-considered-to-be husband, and cooking was the best way to do so. It was making sure that Crowley was nourished. It was a physical testament to his love. 

And there was something about directly causing Crowley to gain weight that filled him with… something else. He wasn’t sure what to call it. Picturing Crowley steadily getting larger and outgrowing his clothes made him excited, and he quickly wrote down everything that would do the job quickly. Surely, it was tied to his own eagerness to have a kid. 

“What do you have?” Crowley asked, looking at the sheet of paper Aziraphale had been scribbling on. He hummed. “I don’t like tomatoes.”

“We can avoid tomato-based dishes.” 

Crowley continued reading the list. “Oh, fuck, I forgot about goose. I had it that one Christmas with you.”

It was perhaps the one time Aziraphale had seen Crowley actually satiate himself. He had laid down for a nap after they cleaned their plates, claiming he was drowsy from the meal. One of his hands rested over his stomach which was ever so slightly distended. It had evoked the same feelings that Aziraphale was feeling now--a combination of what he assumed was lust and tenderness. 

“We’ll see if we can get it for this weekend,” Aziraphale said. 

“ _ Please.  _ It might be the only way I actually gain weight for this kid.”

Aziraphale could live with that.

* * *

“You need to finish, my dear. We made an agreement. Three meals a day.”

Crowley whined. He wasn’t used to eating so much. After breakfast, lunch, and most of dinner, he felt impossibly bloated. His jeans were getting tight, and he wanted to sleep. 

Aziraphale picked up Crowley’s fork, spearing a chunk of roast goose. 

“Come now.”

Crowley leaned forward and took the bite. He blushed when Aziraphale praised him after he swallowed. The little praises and endearments made Crowley lean forward again and again until his plate was clean and Aziraphale was cooing. He was well-aware that he’d do anything if Aziraphale was verbally rewarding him for it.

And now, he was stuffed. He had never been so full before.

“Very  _ good _ , dear. I knew you could do it.”

Crowley looked down at his distended middle. He held his breath when Aziraphale’s hand patted it. 

“Angel!”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale’s face was as bright as Crowley’s felt. “I should have asked--you just look so--I should have asked before…”

“No, I don’t think--I didn’t mind it.”

He took Aziraphale’s hand and led it back to his belly. Aziraphale hesitated before rubbing his hand in circles. It felt nice for Crowley. All of it. 

He felt heavy and sleepy and a little aroused. Aziraphale’s hand soothed his taut belly which protested against all the food Crowley had forced inside. He moaned a little as Aziraphale traveled below his navel, fingers lightly running over the flesh that was poking out over his waistband. 

“You did well,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley tested the waters. “Couldn’t have done it without you feeding me that last bit.”

“You look uncomfortable.” Aziraphale rested his fingers over Crowley’s jeans button. “May I?” 

“Please.”

It took a few tries with the fabric being so tight, but Aziraphale unbuttoned the trousers. Crowley sighed in relief as his belly pushed forward. It was tiny, still. Just barely rounded out. But for him, he had never eaten so much and had never seen his body take on this shape. It was intriguing. 

“With luck, it won’t take long for you to put on a few pounds,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley joined Aziraphale in rubbing his belly. He stifled a burp as he pressed down. “If you keep feeding me like this, angel,” he patted his belly, “it shouldn’t take any time at all.”

Aziraphale pulled his hand away and stood. “You look like you’re ready for bed, my dear.”

Crowley nodded and shifted in his seat. “You’ll need to help me there.”

* * *

Within a month, Crowley had started to notice a little softness to his frame and a new snugness to his clothes. He was finally gaining weight, he told Aziraphale, which meant baby-making time could follow soon.

And they were both eager for baby-making activities after picking up their new hobby. 

“Angel, I’ll burst if I eat another bite.”

“You can do it, my love. You’re almost done.”

Crowley held his belly as Aziraphale laid another bite of cake into his mouth. Crowley moaned when he swallowed. 

Every Wednesday night was now dedicated to their newest plan (named, by Crowley, “Stuff Your Demon Until He Can’t Move”), but anything that they naturally wanted to follow with was strictly forbidden by Crowley. He didn’t want to risk conception until he felt ready, and they had figured that since they both had made up their minds about the whole business, it would happen on their first try. 

“You’re doing so well. Look at you. Much bigger than you got last week.”

Aziraphale ran his hand over Crowley’s middle. It certainly was bigger than the week before. Crowley had been pushing farther and farther past his limits every time, and the results were showing. 

He had unbuttoned his pants already and pulled his shirt up over his belly. He already looked pregnant. His stomach was tight and rested over his legs into his lap. He couldn’t keep his hands off himself, and neither could Aziraphale. They rubbed and grabbed at his gut as they continued packing Crowley with food. 

“One more bite, my dear.”

“I can’t…”

“I know you can, and I know you want to. You want to eat as much as you physically can tonight. You want to really give in to gluttony. That’s what you’ve told me. You can’t back out now.”

Aziraphale had gotten better at dirty talk. What was initially awkward praise slowly turned into something actually sexy. Crowley loved being called a glutton by Aziraphale. He loved being told that he wasn't allowed to stop and getting lost in the teasing.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a pout before taking the last bite. He groaned dramatically as he swallowed. 

“Angel… it was too much. I overdid it.”

“I have you.”

Aziraphale pressed up against him, letting Crowley lean on his chest. He laid his hand over Crowley's middle, rubbing the turgid flesh and falling into the usual aftercare. 

"Look at you, dear. You're so big."

"Fucking huge." Crowley lightly patted the side of his gut. "Didn't think I could get this big."

Aziraphale chuckled, hand dropping to Crowley's lower belly--their favorite spot. What was once soft, malleable fat earlier that day was now tight as a drum with dinner (three servings of pasta bolognese and garlic bread) and dessert (two slices of cake) stuffed inside. 

Crowley leaned into Aziraphale's touch. He hummed as Aziraphale's thumb moved back and forth, stroking the sensitive skin. He felt as if he could burst if the food didn't settle in him soon. 

"Maybe it was because of all the snacks you had. I told you they'd ruin your appetite," Aziraphale tutted. 

Crowley took every opportunity he had to pack on as much weight as possible. And that meant in between meals he was putting away biscuits, granola bars, crisps, anything they had laying around the house. But Aziraphale was one to talk. He usually joined Crowley in midday snacks. 

As Aziraphale tended to Crowley’s belly, he looked over to see Aziraphale's own belly a little more rounded out than usual. A touch swollen. Crowley reached over to press his hand into it. 

"Oh, dear. Really."

"Eat enough yourself?"

Crowley ran his hand down his waistcoat to the tight trousers. They were straining as he suspected. 

"I suppose I did overdo it today as well," Aziraphale said. 

"Get comfy with me."

Crowley tugged at his trouser button until it popped open. Aziraphale's belly satisfyingly pushed forward, and his hand momentarily left Crowley to situate himself. He pushed his trousers down and lifted his belly up so that it laid over the waistband, effectively hiding the flaps. 

"I ought to be careful. I'm not the one we're trying to fatten up." 

Crowley bit his lip.

Back in the 18th century, Aziraphale had fit in with the aristocracy. They hadn't seen each other for decades when, in the early 1790s, Crowley had met him for dinner. The angel was much larger than the last time they crossed paths. His face was rounder, and his stomach rested in his lap. Crowley hadn't said anything but watched during that meal as Aziraphale ate plate after plate. He had leaned back with a satisfied sigh, suit tighter than when they had first been seated and hands resting over his strained waistcoat. 

When they left, Aziraphale had more or less waddled out of the restaurant, his belly sticking straight out in front of him. He was breathless when they finally made it back to his flat and commented about how he shouldn't have had dessert as it had settled poorly in his aching stomach. 

Crowley had longed to touch him then. And now he had the opportunity. 

Aziraphale went back to tending to Crowley as Crowley massaged Aziraphale. He felt the tight parts of his belly where the food had piled up and pushed out. Aziraphale let out happy moans as Crowley worked.

"Going to look like you did in the 1700s," Crowley mumbled. 

Aziraphale blushed. "I'd have to gain a substantial amount of weight to get there again."

"You did it once. Saw you. Completely insatiable you were."

"It was fashionable. I've told you."

"Sure it was. I think you just liked having an excuse to eat as much as you wanted. I remember you moaning about how much you had eaten and then ordering another plate. I'm sure it wouldn't be a problem now. You've already started." Crowley patted Aziraphale's belly, enjoying how it jiggled. 

"If you're so keen on me blowing up, then what would say to another dessert?"

Aziraphale pushed down onto Crowley's belly. Crowley belched and grabbed at his belly with a pained groan. The burp felt as if it made a little room, but the thought of anything else passing his lips made him wince. 

"Or we could sleep off our dinners," Aziraphale said. "And make a large breakfast in the morning."

Crowley nodded. "The latter. On one condition."

"What's that?"

"We sleep here. I don't think I could get up."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I call this chapter, the Sexy chapter. I'm not super good at writing sex scenes, so I just didn't. But the rest is pretty hot if you're into this.

Crowley considered himself to be at a happy weight after three months. He could have considered himself safe to have a baby before that, but he wanted to make certain he had enough padding as insurance. He had heard stories from women who lost weight during their first trimester due to morning sickness, and he thought of himself dipping back down “underweight” if he was put off by food every day for three months. 

Anxiety for the not-yet baby made him tell Aziraphale that he wanted to wait a little longer. Aziraphale had kissed him on the forehead and told him that they would for as long as Crowley needed them to. There were a few more weeks of consistent eating and nights of stuffing his face with anything they had in the house. 

His thighs were now splendidly thick and his arms had gained a little mass as well. His cheeks were round and his ass was plentiful. Most importantly, though, his belly stuck out over the waistband of his still-sinfully tight trousers. It was the best part of him, he believed. 

Crowley eagerly showed Aziraphale who squeezed and pinched at the new love handles before looking at Crowley with the most tender gaze. 

"We can have a baby now?"

"We can have a baby now, angel."

Aziraphale cupped his face and kissed him. Crowley laughed, tears pricking at his eyes. They were finally going to get their baby after months of waiting. He was finally going to get to be a father. Mother. Parental figure. 

Since Eden, he had fancied himself as a parent even if he hadn’t known it yet (because it was really quite hard to put together what Eve was expecting and how they got there, despite what Aziraphale said once they had that talk). But watching Eve be led out of the garden, a hand pressed to her belly, sparked something in Crowley. He was curious by nature, and he didn’t take kindly to people having things that he didn’t. 

Once he started seeing more children running around the Earth, he thought maybe he’d like to keep one. One startled mother and a thorough finger-wagging from Aziraphale later, he learned that one can’t just pluck one off the streets as one would do a cat. No one had made such a fuss when he kept Petunia the cat for 30 years. No one had even made a fuss when she passed peacefully in her sleep when Crowley learned that cats don’t live 30 years. 

The 1960s made him realize how terribly he wanted a family. There was a boom of children and expectant mothers. Being exposed to that at all hours of the day on top of respectfully giving Aziraphale space only heightened his baby fever (as humans called it) and his yearning for a steady relationship. 

"When do we start trying?" Aziraphale asked.

"Tonight."

"Oh. I see you're in a rush." 

"I would say right now, but I have errands to run. Listen, I've been waiting for this for a long time. I want a baby."

"I know, my love. But let's make it romantic. Run your errands, and I'll plan something." 

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Plan ‘something?’” 

“Just leave it to me, and you worry about getting ready for tonight.”

Crowley spent the afternoon returning his library books (he had begun to actually enjoy little trips to the library and the books he could find there), buying a new ficus tree for their living room, and setting up mild inconveniences across the village. He spent the evening trying on dresses and skirts in their bedroom, looking for the perfect outfit. 

If only his clothes still fit. 

He had taken to wearing sweatpants around the cottage (who had he become?) that adjusted to his growing body and one pair of jeans that he had miracled half a dozen times to always button. His old wardrobe, compiled of clothes he wore when he was much thinner or had bought when he was at the beginning of his weight gain, appeared to be a lost cause. He couldn’t wiggle into a lot of them and what he could, he couldn’t zip. 

_ Surely _ he hadn’t gained so much. It was only enough to get him ready for a baby. It shouldn’t have meant that everything more than a month old in his closet was too tight. 

He pulled off the black dress he was trying to zip up. The zipper had made it to his lower back but stopped when the material wouldn’t reach around his waist. He let it fall to the floor and stepped out of it, kicking it to the side into the growing pile of too-small outfits. 

Crowley was determined to find something that fit before he had to miracle a few more inches to something. There had to be something that he could squeeze into. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, hand dropping to his belly and running down the curve. It was once flat--too flat--and now stuck out a fair bit. He turned to the side to examine his profile. It was what humans called a potbelly, he thought. A lot of the weight he had gained went there, round when he stood and turning into rolls when he sat. 

The rest of the weight was spread between his thighs, face, and ass. His legs were thicker. He enjoyed them. He liked how his thighs touched when he sat now. His jaw was softer and cheeks a tad plumper. A subtle double chin was developing. His ass was visible now, though it was still a bit flat. But it did pucker out, filling out the seat of his jeans well when he ventured outside. 

Crowley looked to the pile of clothes on the floor and back down to his gut. He grabbed it with both hands, sinking his fingers in. Aziraphale had grabbed at it during meals, and they both rubbed it when it was firm with food, but Crowley had yet to explore it himself. 

He liked it. While it wasn’t as big as his angel’s (and his angel had been becoming quite corpulent in the past months), it was soft and jiggled when he shook it. He could squeeze it and push it out further.

Maybe he had gained a bit of weight. But he wasn’t complaining. 

With resignation and a little excitement, he dove back into the clothes in a search for his first-pick dress. It was his favorite. It had lace sleeves that were now too tight to let him lift his arms. The waist was cinched and didn’t fit without threatening to snap at the seams. The skirt was a-line and used to fall to his knees but now crept up further as it had to accommodate for a larger butt and the bulging lower belly.

He squeezed into, admiring how it hugged at his curves before snapping his fingers. It fit as it had before. 

Crowley styled his hair and did his makeup as Aziraphale walked in. 

“Are you almost ready, my dear?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Aziraphale walked behind him as Crowley finished filling in his eyebrows. He leaned into the mirror to get a closer look, putting on the final touches. 

“You look beautiful.” 

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, hand resting on his belly almost possessively. Crowley wanted to take him right there, but he trusted Aziraphale had something planned that would make it worth the wait. 

Crowley turned around to face him, looping his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. “You don’t look half-bad yourself.”

Aziraphale kissed him on the cheek, knowing better than to smudge his lipstick. “I hope your hungry.”

Crowley pushed their bodies closer just a tad. He buried his fingers in the back of Aziraphale’s hair. 

“Starving, angel.”

* * *

Canapes came first. To warm their pallets. They disappeared almost as soon as they were put down, consumed easily during conversation. 

The second course was a plate of bruschetta shared between the two of them. They finished them quickly, making small talk about village gossip. Their empty plate and crumbs were whisked away and room was made for new dishes. 

The third course was a simple salad topped with olive oil and served with a slice of sourdough bread. They mopped up the remaining dressing in their bowls with the bread and sat back, waiting. 

French onion soup was next. Crowley moaned when it was placed in front of him and dipped his spoon in before it was cool enough. Aziraphale carried the conversation while Crowley enthusiastically ate his soup in record time. It was one of his favorite dishes and could easily eat a meal of it alone. Aziraphale had made plenty of it in the past few months.

At this point, Crowley rested his hand on his belly and sighed. Aziraphale sipped at a spoonful of soup as he watched. 

“Getting full?” 

Crowley shook his head, looking content as his fingers moved in small circles. “Not even close.”

Their soup was replaced with roasted pork loin stuffed with rosemary and garlic, roasted cauliflower and carrots, and a baked potato. 

Crowley passed half of his baked potato to Aziraphale when his dress was becoming a tad too tight. Aziraphale accepted it without a break in his story. He wiggled in his chair before starting in. Crowley leaned back and popped a slice of carrot in his mouth. 

Dessert came as two slices of black forest cake. Neither of them spoke. They lethargically dug their forks in, taking bite after bite just to get it down. Crowley cupped his aching belly under the table, feeling it grow tighter and rounder as he neared the end of his plate.

“I need you to finish it for me,” he said, pushing the plate to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale had finished his piece already and eyed Crowley’s uncertainly. 

“I know you can,” Crowley said. “You never turn away food. I’ve seen you eat more than this.”

Aziraphale leaned forward with a wince and slid the plate closer to himself. He scooped up the remaining bites and ate them with a satisfied moan, leaving behind only a smudge of cherry sauce and a dollop of whipped cream. And even though they looked ready to burst, the waiters laid out mignardises and poured them coffee. Who were they to not appreciate the pastry chef’s hard work?

They sat in front of what was left of the end of their rich seven-course meal, feeling very full and performing a few miracles to make sure no one would notice the table of two bloated, groaning men.

Crowley leaned back in his chair, slapping a hand to his belly. 

"Fuck, angel…"

Aziraphale was leaned back as well, one hand lazily stroking his belly. He was short of breath but continued raising tiny pastries to his mouth. He moaned after each bite in a mix of pleasure and agony. 

While Crowley's dress clung to his body, Aziraphale was practically bursting out of his clothes. His waistcoat was not only strained at the buttons but also rode up away from his trousers--the trousers which appeared to be on their last leg. The extra food that Crowley had pushed his way had taken their toll, and the trousers were clasped together by one straining button.

Crowley eyed it, wondering if it had a chance of popping off before they left. 

He was ready to make a baby. After watching his angel stuff himself to the brim and feeling the weight of his own dinner stretch him tight, his underwear was soaked. He shifted in his seat, cupping his belly to assist it in moving, clenching his thighs together. He wanted to touch himself--wanted Aziraphale to touch him, to press against his throbbing clit and thrust in and out until they were sure there was going to be a baby in ten months. The three months of pleasuring himself or having Aziraphale use his hands or his mouth (God, his mouth) were over. He wanted his angel in him. 

“Oh, dear. I believe I went too far.”

Aziraphale dropped a half-eaten truffle, hand joining the other in their attempt to settle his belly. He arched his back and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I haven’t seen you this full since… what was it, 1794?” Crowley said. 

Aziraphale hid a burp behind his hand, followed a moan. “Perhaps. That was a lunch we shared in Italy, was it not? Regardless, I don’t think I’ve eaten this much since 1796 at a dinner party. Ooh, it was much easier back then. My appetite was quite large after overindulging for the entire decade.”

Crowley hummed, remembering how Aziraphale looked blissful after meals that decade. He was always pleasantly stuffed it seemed. Meals had the possibility of running into each other, and Aziraphale never turned down an invitation to eat. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Crowley said. “I  _ need  _ to make this baby  _ right now. _ ” 

Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley needed to get out of that restaurant and into bed or he’d surely combust. But there was a slight problem. He wasn’t sure how capable he was of standing. And looking at Aziraphale, he was certain the angel was in the same predicament. 

He sat up, his belly protesting with every inch. He grasped the arms of his chair and heaved himself up, looking silly in the process as his back arched in favor of his body trying to bend around his belly. He whimpered once he was upright, feeling his belly protest to being moved so much. He stumbled and moved to Aziraphale’s side, cradling his noisy gut. 

Aziraphale hadn’t made an effort to move and had his eyes closed. 

“Come on, angel.”

“I just need a moment.”

“ _ Angel,”  _ Crowley whined. “This is our chance. We’ve been waiting for  _ months  _ for this. I  _ need  _ you.”

Aziraphale looked up at him. He patted his belly and sighed. Crowley was dying at how big he looked at this angle. His belly pushed out far, pressed against the table. 

Aziraphale pushed himself forward after a few unproductive wiggles. He perched himself on the edge of the seat and…

There was the  _ pop  _ of thread giving way and a scattering button. 

Aziraphale’s belly fell forward in his lap, still slightly restrained by the waistcoat. He sighed in relief and rubbed at his engorged middle where it peeked out from under his shirt. Crowley’s face burned. Aziraphale was literally spilling out his clothes. Aziraphale had eaten so much that he had burst out his trousers. He needed Aziraphale more than before. 

With a snap from Crowley, Aziraphale’s outfit was larger and buttoned again. 

“Thank you, dear.”

“Let’s _ go.  _ There can’t be anything sexier than this. Both of us struggling to walk out of here. You bursting out of your suit because you couldn’t stop yourself before then. The idea of getting home and fucking within an inch of our lives.”

Aziraphale had one hand on the chair and the other on the table. He stood with no shortage of whining and took his first step forward which was undoubtedly a waddle. No one in the restaurant noticed them walking out, huffing and leaning on each other for support. 

They made it a block before they were both too out of breath to keep going. 

“I’m calling an Uber,” Crowley said. 

He leaned against a nearby building, one hand scrolling through his phone and the other pressed against his belly. Aziraphale joined him, arms around his belly as they had been since they left. 

“One should be here in-- _ urp-- _ a few minutes,” Crowley said, wincing at the belch and hoping that he wasn’t going to be sick on the sidewalk. That would be a mood killer. “I can’t handle everything jostling around anymore. Fuck, we really overdid it, didn’t we?”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement but stayed silent until the driver pulled up. They pushed themselves forward and climbed in with difficulty. 

“She won’t notice us,” Aziraphale said after they gave the driver their address. 

“Thank someone.” 

Crowley had been focused on not being sick, muffling belches and rubbing his belly, when he noticed the tray between the front and back seats. It was full of candy with a note, telling passengers to enjoy as much they wanted. 

It must have caught Aziraphale’s eye as well for the angel was reaching in and grabbing a handful of “fun-sized” chocolate bars. Crowley gave him a wicked smile. 

“Really, angel?” He reached over and patted Aziraphale’s belly. It was taut. A belly so soft with fat shouldn’t get so taut, but his angel would always keep going, gorging himself until he was in a food-induced stupor.

“A few won’t hurt.”

Aziraphale unwrapped the first candy and took a dainty bite. Crowley rubbed harder, feeling how Aziraphale’s body was protesting against the chocolate and caramel that only stretched him out further. 

When they arrived at their cottage, three hands were working at Aziraphale’s belly and a small pile of wrappers laid between them. The driver received a nice tip and five stars as Aziraphale moaned about how he shouldn’t have kept eating, how he was surely not going to make it up to stairs. 

Crowley pulled him out of the car. Their bellies bumped when Aziraphale managed to get himself on the sidewalk. The journey to their bedroom was full of Crowley swearing under his breath and Aziraphale laments on how much he ate that day.

“Oh, God. Oh, God. Angel, get on the bed.”

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the mattress, caressing his belly. Crowley began working at his clothes. First, the coat came off. Then, the waistcoat and the bowtie. The shirt came off and revealed the beautiful, round ball of a belly that stuck out with pride. The trousers were tricky. Aziraphale managed to slide back against the headboard, and Crowley wiggled them free. All that was left was the boxers that rolled under his belly. His massive belly that expanded upward and outward and took up an obscene amount of space. 

Crowley made Aziraphale unzip his tight dress for him. He struggled to pull it off as the fabric in the waistband couldn’t stretch any further to move down his body. There were a few pops of a broken seam and then finally, it was off and on the floor and his stuffed belly was on display. 

“Angel, I’m dying for you.”

He let his panties join the dress and climbed (with much struggling) on to the bed, straddling Aziraphale’s legs. 

“Let’s see if we can get your cock inside me or if these fat, stuffed bellies are going to get in the way.”

Aziraphale’s fingers dug into thighs as Crowley spoke.

It did appear to be a problem. Neither had the mobility to do much. Crowley tried getting on top of Aziraphale, but their bellies bumped too much for their liking. Aziraphale attempted to get up to reposition himself but quickly found he was quite literally pinned down. He breathed heavily after his second attempt, grabbing his unhappy tummy. 

In the end, it worked out. After moving around a bit more than they preferred, Aziraphale managed to slip inside Crowley with Crowley’s back facing him. Fortunately (or unfortunately), it didn’t take long for them to climax together. Crowley pulled Aziraphale out of him and crawled to Aziraphale’s side.

They laid together, panting and sweating and burping and clutching at their bellies.

“That was amazing,” Crowley breathed. “Let’s go again.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Dear, I don’t think I’m going to be doing much until all of this,” he grabbed his belly and shook it, “settles. I’m going to need a long sleep before I’ll be able to move from his spot again. Quite a miracle we made it out of the restaurant.”

Crowley traced the curve of Aziraphale’s belly from where it domed out from his chest, past his belly button, and rested his hand on his lower belly. Aziraphale moaned as he began massaging. 

“You’re never fitting into that suit again.”

“Nor you that dress.”

“Well, in a few months I’ll be in maternity clothes anyways.”

Aziraphale smiled. “We’ll have a baby soon.”

Crowley nodded. It was really happening. 

He blinked back tears. Finally, everything felt right. He didn’t feel wronged or damned as he had for 6,000 thousand years. And if everything went well, he’d never feel that way again.

“We’ll have a baby soon.”


	3. Chapter 3

“I would have brought you breakfast, my dear. You didn’t have to get up.”

Crowley tossed a dirty look at Aziraphale as he walked into the kitchen. He would do whatever he pleased at the moment, thank you very much. And the least he could do at 42 weeks pregnant was take a walk around the cottage. 

“I didn’t want to lay in bed any longer.” Crowley eased himself into a kitchen chair. “I couldn’t get comfortable.”

Aziraphale scooped scrambled eggs onto a plate, next to the toast and bacon. Crowley watched eagerly as it was topped with pepper, garlic salt, and a sprinkling of chopped basil. He had been starving for the past half hour—well, the past four months if anyone wanted to be technical. 

“I’m sorry, my love.” Aziraphale kissed the top of his head and placed the plate in front of him. “I’m sure the baby will come soon.”

“You’ve been saying that for two weeks, and he still hasn’t shown himself.”

Aziraphale sat across from Crowley and put his hand on his belly. The baby kicked under his fingers. 

“She’ll be here before we know it.”

While Crowley insisted that the baby was going to be a boy, Aziraphale claimed that it would be a girl. It had caused a bet between the men, and there was a nice dinner at the Ritz or at the Criterion resting on the assigned gender of their kid. Of course, the dinner wouldn’t happen for many months. But there would be bragging to hold the winner over until it came. 

“Nothing even fits anymore,” Crowley mumbled, plucking at his t-shirt. It just barely covered his entire bump. 

“We’ll miracle everything a tad bigger if we need to.”

Crowley pushed his food around his plate. Aziraphale ran his hand over his belly and smiled as he felt the little pushes against his palm. He couldn’t imagine how miserable his demon had to be. Crowley complained daily about the state of his back and the little sleep he got at night. He had to be helped around more than he pleased, and now that the baby had dropped, it caused more problems with his gait and comfort.

Aziraphale wished he could use a little miracle to move the baby along, but Crowley forbade it. No matter how awful he felt, he didn’t want to interfere with anything. It was their first baby, and Crowley didn’t feel like learning if magically induced labor could cause complications. 

“How about we go on a short walk after you finish your breakfast?” Aziraphale said. “It might do you and the little one good.” 

Crowley nodded. “Can you help me change?” 

“Of course, my love.”

Crowley cleared his plate, and Aziraphale helped him to the bedroom to pick out an outfit. Crowley insisted on leggings which Aziraphale helped him to step into and a loose maternity blouse miracled a size bigger. 

“There we are,” Aziraphale said, soothing it out. “You look beautiful.”

Crowley hummed and looked at himself in the mirror with a scowl. He didn’t feel beautiful. He felt tired and sore and looked like an overripe fruit with toothpicks sticking out. The weight that he had gained before conception was mostly lost due to morning sickness. Aziraphale had fussed and fretted the entire first trimester as Crowley struggled to eat full meals. 

“Would you like me to plait your hair for you, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley nodded. He sat in front of his vanity as Aziraphale dug through combs and hair ties. Aziraphale wasn’t amazing at styling hair, but he could manage a simple braid. It was important to learn, he insisted as he practiced on Crowley’s own hair night after night, in case their little one had long hair. Besides, Crowley seemed to relax when Aziraphale ran his hands over his head and down his neck. 

“Beautiful,” Aziraphale said after he created a crooked plait. He kissed the top of Crowley’s head. “Are you ready to go out?”

Crowley nodded. He kneeled to help Crowley slip on his shoes (no longer the stylish snakeskin boots but instead laceless slip-ons) and then helped Crowley to stand. They pulled their jackets on and stepped outside their little cottage. 

The gravel crunched under their feet, and the wind blew past their ears. They walked in silence, fingers laced together, content to watch the beginnings of spring for the 6,000th time. No matter how many times he witnessed the flowers bud and trees find their leaves again, Aziraphale would never grow tired of it. There was nothing more beautiful than seeing everything be resurrected. It felt different this year, as well. Extra special now with his own little creation coming soon. 

“Oh, hello!” Aziraphale called out. 

Elaine sat down her sheers and waved at the couple as they approached. She was one of their favorite neighbors (even if Crowley would never admit to it) and had left many packages on their doorstep as soon as Aziraphale had told her that they were expecting. The packages were combinations of onesies her grandson wore years ago, small baby toys and books. She had even packed ginger candies for Crowley when she heard that the morning sickness was taking its toll on him. 

She was shockingly accepting and knowledgeable for her age as well. When Aziraphale and Crowley first moved to the South Downs, she was welcoming and kid. She wasn’t fazed to learn that Crowley was pregnant when the other neighbors had to do a double-take.

“How are you three doing?” she asked, tossing a sympathetic look towards Crowley. 

“Managing,” Crowley said, resting a hand on his belly. “Little dork is pretty stubborn.”

“When they get here, it’ll all have been worth it,” Elaine said. “My daughter’s wife was a week and a half late, and she said she those extra days mean nothing now.”

Crowley nodded. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You’re both happy, and that’s all we can ask for,” Aziraphale said. 

“ _ I  _ can ask for the dork to get out already.”

Elaine hid a smile behind her gloved hand. “Anthony has a point. He’s doing the hard part.”

Crowley looked smug as he turned to Aziraphale, who could only look apologetic. He had tried for ten months to be careful about what he said and did, but he misspoke often. Crowley had told him not to worry too much. By their next kid, he’d know better. By their third kid, he’d be a pro. Aziraphale had asked how many kids Crowley was planning on having. Crowley didn’t answer. 

“Have you been trying to get things moving along?” Elaine asked. “Spicy food?”

“Nothing’s worked,” Aziraphale said. 

“Your midwife hasn’t said anything helpful?”

“Not much.” 

In reality, was no midwife as it would be incredibly difficult to explain to a human why their child might have yellow eyes or why Crowley might have wings if he were to lose some control. But they had told everyone they were doing a home birth and had plans for a family friend to visit from London to help. 

“Said it’s normal as long as everyone’s healthy,” Crowley said. “It’ll happen when it happens.”

“Hopefully that’s soon,” Elaine said. “Have a glass of wine tonight and relax. Make Azira do anything you need.” 

Crowley smirked. “I’ve already been taking full advantage of that.”

“Starting from month one.” Aziraphale’s tone was teasing, but he would do anything for Crowley even if it meant going out at 1 am to buy a pint of Crowley’s favorite ice cream or spending all day baking fresh cinnamon raisin bread.

They left Elaine to finish trimming her shrubbery and returned to their cottage for a snack of fresh berries and biscuits.

* * *

Later that night, Crowley complained about the fussy child and the want to sleep for a full year. Aziraphale worked knots out of his back as well as he could as he enjoyed his one allowed glass of wine. 

A movie that neither of them knew the title of played in the background as Aziraphale cuddled up to Crowley’s side. Crowley’s shirt rose just a touch to expose pale skin with stretch marks creeping up from underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. Aziraphale traced one and felt a small flutter in response. He had been warned in the past to “not get the kid worked up” in the evenings, but Crowley had seemed to stop caring as he took advantage of calm, afternoon naps and rising late in the mornings. He also noticed how much Aziraphale enjoyed feeling the baby under his hands, and he had casually mentioned that he couldn’t deny the angel of those joys

Suddenly, without knowing what prompted it, a word came to Aziraphale’s mind. And then a name. 

“Saoirse,” he said. 

Crowley rubbed his eyes and mumbled, “What?”

“As a name if it’s a girl.” Aziraphale felt a kick against his palm. He bent down to press his lips to the curve of Crowley’s belly. “Do you like that? Would you like being called Saoirse?”

“What happened to Annabelle Lee?” 

“I think it’s a lovely name, but I just thought of Saoirse. I think it’s fitting for our first little one. It means freedom.” 

Crowley pulled at Aziraphale’s white curls, burying his fingers into them. There was another kick against Aziraphale’s hand. 

“And I think she likes it.”

“They like hearing their daddy’s voice.” Crowley ran his fingers to the nap of Aziraphale’s neck. “But I like it. Saoirse it is if they’re a girl—which I still don’t think they are.”

“You have your theories, and I’ll have mine.”

“Still Pelham for a boy?” 

“Still Pelham.”

Crowley sunk lower into the sofa and closed his eyes. Aziraphale cooed at the baby, assuring them that they would be loved no matter their name. He laid kisses around Crowley’s navel and was met with little bumps from tiny fists and feet. 

Two days later, Aziraphale and Crowley would hold their daughter and count all her fingers and toes and stroke her cheeks, red from crying. They would repeat her name to her and press her against their chests and kiss every inch of her. Crowley would look at her bright blue eyes and promise to show her all the neat things humans had invented. Aziraphale would wash the sprouts of red hair and promise her that she would always feel love in their home. 

They would all fall asleep together that first night and 18 months later, begin it all again. 


End file.
